


Twerking For The Infidel

by SlutWriter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anti-LGBT Slurs, Big Cock, Creampie, Degradation, Dirty Talk, F/M, Femmeboi, Huge Shota, Humiliation, Impregnation, Incest, M/M, MILF, Multi, Pregnant, Raceplay, Raceplay (Middle Eastern/White), Racial slurs, Taboo Raceplay, Thick Semen, Titfuck, VEIL, Verbal Abuse, Watersports, Womb Tattoo, blowjob, hijab, huge ass, huge tits, ntr, rimjob, sacreligious, size comparison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23077072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlutWriter/pseuds/SlutWriter
Summary: Live-in Persian MILF housekeeper Aliyah has maintained tradition by wearing a hijab, but when the racist son of her employer decides to engage in blackmail to lay his eyes on those big jugs and thick ass, things get way out of control!
Comments: 22
Kudos: 218





	Twerking For The Infidel

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This contains taboo raceplay, racial slurs and sacrilegious actions that may offend those of faith who are not specifically interested in such things as taboo fetish kink. Read at your own risk and stop reading if it makes you uncomfortable.

“Boom boom! I gotcha, towel-head!” chirped young Richard LeBlanc, pointing his Nerf Blaster at an imaginary enemy as he peeked out from behind his chest-high (for a 12-year-old boy) fortress of pillows. You can tell all the other Al-Quedas that they’re gonna lose!” He was a brown-haired, blue-eyed boy with two smudges of marker drawn under his eyes to mimic the lampblack of a veteran desert operator. A white undershirt was pulled over his upper body, exposing a physique that was decidedly un-Rambolike, but he made up for his lack of mature male muscles with enthusiasm. His young face furrowed into a frown, drawing his light freckles together. Something wasn’t as it should be.

“Ali!” he complained, tossing his gun down with disgust. “That’s your cue, dummy!”

“Oh!” came a voice from around the corner, in the main hallway that connected to the living room where Richard’s pillow bunker was constructed. “I thought I was supposed to wait.” This was another young voice, but gentler and more melodic, lighter and more hesitant than Richard’s confident one.

“No, stupid!” Richard whined, throwing up his hands. They were clad in fingerless gloves, which were actually wool mittens that he’d cut the fingertips off of, trying to imitate the tough, gruff spec-ops soldiers from his favorite video games. “You’re supposed to come out right now and ‘I declare jihad upon you, and I’ll detonate my suicide vest!’

Ali poked his head out from the hallway to receive this instruction, another boy, slightly older and softer-looking, his large brown eyes opened adorably wide. Unlike his playmate, who was fair-skinned, Ali had skin the color of lacquered wood and chestnut brown eyes. His short hair was dark too. When he spoke, it was with an accent that marked him as a recent immigrant from the Middle East. “Ah! I’m sorry, Richard! I got very confused!”

“Gunnery Sergeant Richard!” the caucasian boy corrected, impatiently. “Now come on, its your line!”

Having been rebuked, Ali leapt into his role with enthusiasm. He was wearing an oversized winter coat that was duct-taped at regular intervals with bags of frozen hotdogs from the LeBlanc family freezer, in his hand he held a large pen with a red nub that would act as a detonator for the sticks of faux-dynamite. “I declare jihad upon you, and I will detonate my suicide vest!” he cried, though coming in his rather high and cute voice and from a face that was screwed up in concentration to avoid forgetting his lines, it was hardly intimidating.

“Make the noise!” Richard ordered. He had regained his rifle and was taking aim. But Ali immediately blushed and halted his performance again.

“The noise?” Ali asked, and his long eyelashes fluttered as he averted eye contact. His cheeks, though caramel in color, were still showing the blushing redness of embarrassment. “Oh, Richard, I do not know if-”

“Just do it! And hold up the detonator!” Richard ordered.

Ali, not wanting to disappoint the other boy, took a deep breath. “Ayiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiii!” he wailed, undulating his voice in a quavering falsetto whoop. “Ayiyiyiyiyiyyiiyiyiyiyiyiiiiiiiiii!”

“Blam blam!” Richard cried. “Blam! Two in the chest, one in the head!” He brandished his rifle accordingly, and Ali obediently fell to the floor amidst his adult-sized coat and hotdog packages, the pen detonating rolling from his hand. He screwed his face up in an adorable approximation of ‘deadness’.

“That’s one less sand nigger,” Richard said, in his best gruff operator voice, before putting a kill-notch in his Nerf Blaster with a razor-blade he’d collected from one of his moms Lady Gilettes. “America is safe from the terrorist threat!”

But then the boys both heard it - a thundering thump of feet, coming from down the hall. Richard knew immediately what was coming, and he threw his Nerf gun to the ground and tried to act innocent when their hijab-clad caretaker, Aliyah Sultana, rumbled onto the scene. She was an extremely voluptuous Middle-Eastern woman who, in strict observance to Muslim traditions, wore a headscarf and black, neck to ankle hijab at all times. She was also Ali’s mother, Richard’s babysitter, and live-in housekeeper to Mrs. Mamie LeBlanc, Richard’s mother.

Much was Richard knew he was probably in trouble, he loved watching Aliyah move, as did any male who got the privilege of watching her body undulate beneath her clothing. Much as the hijab was meant for modesty, in Aliyah’s case, her very curvy rear end and enormous breasts provided round, protruding edifices of flesh for the light black cloth to slither over, between and around. She had a beautiful face as well - full lips, almond-shaped eyes that were a startling color of amber-brown - and eyelashes and brows that seemed regal in their extravagant perfection. Her skin, a light-chocolate shade dotted with beauty marks in places that seemed god-ordained to entice (just below the right eye, and another just at the corner of her mouth on the same side) didn’t show even the slightest wrinkle or blemish even at the age of thirty-four.

“Ali! Richard! What are you boys up to?” Aliyah said, crossly. She spoke in the same accent as her son, which from her lips was pleasingly exotic. “What are you wearing, Ali? And why are you making such noises?”

“I was declaring jihad on Richard!” Ali said, laying flat on his back on the floor and looking up at his mother. Her breasts bulged so far forward inside her flowing gown that part of her face was obscured by them, but he could still see her eyes. “He says I am a sand nigger and he must kill all of the towel-heads and camel jockeys like me!”

“Ali!” Aliyah bellowed. “You should not say such words! Those are bad words which Americans use to ridicule our people!” She shot an accusing glance at young Richard. “And that noise you made, it is nothing but stereotypical nonsense!” She began to busily snatch the taped-on hotdog packages from Ali’s jacket, tearing at the silver duct tape in busy, frustrated fashion. 

Richard peered over his pillow fort and watched as Aliyah hunkered down next to her son and tried to disengage him from his war-games costume. The black fabric of her full-body covering clung to her large, round buttocks, making them loom like mountain ranges between which the crack of her ass was a mysterious but somehow-enticing passage. Richard thought that even if he used both of his hands, she couldn’t even come close to holding even one of her big round butt cheeks in his hand… but he couldn’t quite be sure, that was the maddening thing. Aliyah’s traditional clothing made it impossible to know for certain just what her body looked like underneath!

Richard nibbled his lip and ogled the much older woman until she had finished extricating Ali and pulled him up to clutch him into a protective hug. Only then did she turn her ire toward him, clutching Ali to her bosom as she did so, her eyes blazing with anger. “Richard! It is bad for you to teach Ali such words and to have him play this nonsense!”

“But I needed someone to play the terrorist!” Richard complained, his voice quickly reaching a whine. His eyes were glued to Aliyah’s large breasts, which were squeezing up against Ali’s side. Ali had always been a very gullible and easily-influenced momma’s boy, despite being a year older than Richard; Richard used this quality to his advantage to rope his Persian ‘brother’ into all manner of mischief, usually to Ali’s disadvantage. In this case, though, Richard was actually jealous of Ali, since he got to squeeze against his mother’s enormous breasts! His body smooshed them against her side, making them bulge, and Richard thought he could see the protrusion of a big, raised nipple poking into the fabric of her hijab-

“Richard!” Aliyah scolded, shaking her finger. “What are you looking at!”

“Nothing,” Richard said, but he kept staring. While he didn’t know quite how it worked, he did know that his mother was in charge of Aliyah, and so Richard didn’t need to fear any reprisals from his housekeeper.

“You must not treat Ali in such a way!” Aliyah reiterated, closing her eyes and adopting a lecturing tone. “For the holy Quran says, among gods wonders is the creation of the heavens and the earth, and the diversity of tongues and colors!”

“So even though my skin is white and Ali and your skin is the color of poo, it’s no big deal?” Richard asked.

Aliyah made a loud _tsk_ noise with her mouth and shut her eyes crossly. “That is a very rude thing to say, Richard!” she scolded again, still shaking her finger. The nail, though unpainted, was perfectly manicured and graceful.

“Mama, my skin isn’t the color of poo, is it?” Ali asked, his brown eyes wide and alarmed.

“Of course not, Ali!” Aliyah replied, and hugged Ali to her again. Her son’s physical development was far from the rather pugnacious young body that Richard was growing into; Ali seemed rather graceful and curvy, like his mother. He even had the same full lips, long eyelashes, and beauty marks on the corner of his mouth and eye. “Richard is going to apologize for saying such things to you, right now!” Her eyes glared and encouraged Richard to do so.

Richard decided he didn’t feel like it. “I’m sorry I called you a dumb towel-head, Ali,” Richard said, sheepishly. But this only made Aliyah crinkle her nose and object again.

“Richard, you must say you’re sorry without repeating those bad words!” she ordered, rising to her feet and leaning over to address him. Her body shifted beneath her hijab and those huge breasts seemed to hang and pull down on the fabric. It lay softly on her hips, outlining their hourglass shape, and on the front of her thighs, clinging just enough to give him the sense of the triangle-shape that formed her crotch.

“So I should not say words like camel-fucker?” Richard said, shrugging and looking up at Aliyah as if unaffected by the whole ordeal.

Aliyah clenched her fists and blew out air through her mouth that was so heated by frustration, it seemed like steam. Her hand darted out to grasp the front of his undershirt. “I will not stand for this any more. I will punish you, _insha’allah_!”

Before Richard could object, and before her own caution could lead her to a more temperate response, the disrespectful boy was over her knee, and she was drawing back her hand.

WHAP!

She spanked him firmly right on his bottom, making his khaki shorts flutter. 

“Wagh!” Richard whined, and all of the bravado was instantly gone from his face. Much as he dreamed of being a tough-as-nails spec ops soldier who had killed Osama bin Laden, the truth was that he was just a cute young boy who stood as tall as Aliyah’s elbow.

As for Aliyah, her face almost instantly filled with regret. Young Richard had been baiting her with increasingly inappropriate remarks and treatment of her son Ali for months, and it had been getting worse just recently. She had an idea that Richard was at the age where he was getting interested in girls, and that was part of the cause. She knew this because it was her job to change his sheets. More than that, as she draped him over her knee for the spanking, she felt something hot, heavy and warm pressing against her upper thigh.

None of these things were the main worry for Aliyah. As Richard was released and held his bum gingerly, looking at her with tear-filled eyes, she knew that he would tattle to his mother as soon as Mamie LeBlanc was home… and Mamie was very, very protective of her son.

Much as the boy had deserved it, it was a spanking Aliyah instantly wished she could take back. Still, apologizing would only make it worse, make it even more certain that the action would be viewed as a mistake.

“Go to your room and think about what you have done,” she ordered, and mercifully, though she had no real authority over him, Richard went, leaving her standing next to her son Ali, with packages of thawing hotdogs on all sides.

“What does ‘dune coon’ mean, mama?” Ali asked, in his high and gentle voice. “Richard said I should ask you.”

Aliyah sighed deeply and stooped down to clean up, the large, round cheeks of her ass forming a pair of enormous spheres beneath the thin fabric of her _hijab_. How could Ali become a proud Muslim warrior, being raised under such conditions?

“Never mind, Ali,” she said, glowering over her work. “Never mind.”

* * *

“You _spanked_ my son!?” Mamie LeBlanc shrieked, holding a red-faced Richard by the shoulders as she barked at Aliyah in the kitchen. “How dare you show such affrontany, you Muslim cow!”

Aliyah dropped her eyes, looking both guilty and frustrated. “Missus, he was-”

“Tell me exactly what happened!” said Mrs. Mamie LeBlanc, her face red. “Don’t leave out a single detail. Because if I find you to be negligent with my son, so help me, I’ll call up immigration and ship you back to whatever Iraqi shithole you crawled out of!”

“Syria,” Aliyah corrected, and immediately wished she hadn’t as Mamie’s blue eyes flashed. Aliyah was holding a nervous, shamefaced Ali in front of her, hands on shoulders, in much the same way that Mamie was holding Richard.

“I don’t care if it’s Agrabah, you abusive hag!” Mamie roared. “I’ll send your ass to Guantanamo Bay! I have contacts from my book publishing deal, contacts who were part of my husband’s unit! I can do it!” The two women were standing together in the expensively-adorned kitchen, part of a lavish house that she’d bought with the proceeds from her husband’s memoir. Joe LeBlanc had been killed while deployed overseas, and Mamie had collected his wartime journals and published them as part of a rather jingoistic collection. “Portrait Of An American Hero” had made moderate waves, spending a short but lucrative time at the top of the best-seller list. Mamie had used the money primarily on three things - the house, a rather aggressively-sized boob job, and spoiling Richard, who in her eyes could do no wrong and was a boy who, having heard the inflated wartime yarns surrounding his old man, considered himself the second coming of G. I. Joe.

Aliyah had also lost her husband. After fleeing the war-torn countries of the Middle East she’d managed to stay in the United States on a fragile work visa as immigration continued to get more and more difficult. Now, Mamie was holding control of that arrangement over her head like the Sword of Damocles.

Patiently, without showing emotion or raising her voice to set Mamie off, Aliyah recounted the tale again, not embellishing, only giving a fair account. She had found Richard playing pantomime with Ali and forcing him to make unkind caricatures of himself. She had heard him saying unkind words and racist terms. He had continued to do so even when asked not to.

“She said that if I didn’t be quiet, she would send me to Tehran and I would have my head chopped off!” Richard interrupted, tears welling in his eyes. “She said her relatives would declare a holy jihad on our family!”

This bald-faced lie was enough to make Aliyah lose her cool. “That is a filthy lie!’ she yelled, but Mamie held up her hand and raised her own voice.

“How dare you accuse my son of lying! He’s a good-hearted, All-American boy! Just because your cousins wanted to cut your clitoris off doesn’t mean American boys are the same!” When Mamie wasn’t looking, Richard shot Aliyah a knowing smile - the cocky little shit was winding his mother up on purpose.

“Missus, I am simply stating-”

“Silence! One more word and I’ll fire your ass!” Mamie erupted. “I should have known better than to hire a person of _your background_ as a live-in housekeeper.” Her words were venomous, and she wasn’t done, either. “You people don’t have an appreciation for the American way of life! What’s next? Will you hook a car battery to my poor son and electrocute him if he doesn’t obey Sharia law?”

Aliyah looked down and said nothing. Her face was red. It was so humiliating to be spoken to in such a way by this white woman, but she had no recourse in the matter. It was either take the abuse, or suffer the consequences, which would include dismissal and deportation. So often she felt the weight of whiteness pressing down on her, ignoring her customs, speaking to her disrespectfully, and teaching her son, with each action and insult, to have no esteem for his own heritage. The way that young Richard treated her sensitive and delicate son Ali, using him as a prop in his war games, hurling racial slurs… it had no doubt contributed to Ali’s shyness and lack of self-confidence! 

And what was worse… she could feel it affecting her as well. When Richard called her a ‘sand nigger’ without any trace of remorse or regret, the boy made it seem so normal that she almost accepted it! Her burst of anger, and the subsequent spanking, had been retribution not just for the words but for her own self-loathing and doubt. 

Something about the way the boy and his mother treated her was seeping into her.

 _I must ask Allah to give me strength_ , she thought, closing her eyes resolutely and clutching her hands to Ali’s narrow shoulders.

“Now you listen to me,” Mamie seethed, continuing her diatribe. “ _You don’t discipline my son_. I worked hard to get where I am, and if I want him to be spoiled a little, that’s my right. I didn’t bring you here to treat him the same way they treat boys in Riyadh! If he wants to be a little loud and a little brash, that’s his right as a young American boy! And you’re going to let him exercise those rights, or you are fired!”

Aliyah said nothing, only nodded. With Mamie LeBlanc worked up as she was, there was no arguing the point that Richard had crossed the line, that he had been mistreating Ali for months and growing more and more inappropriate in his behavior, or that Riyadh, like Tehran, was also not part of her country of origin. It was her lot, it seemed, to absorb this abuse and these falsehoods.

“I’m leaving for a book tour tomorrow, as you well know,” Mamie went on. “And while I’m gone, you will show Richard every indulgence, is that understood? Whatever he asks of you, you are to give him. No half-measures, and no exceptions!”

A devious smile flashed to the boy’s face, which Aliyah detected at once. “S-surely,” she stammered, “Richard must be held to-”

“No!” Mamie interrupted. “No exceptions. You do whatever he asks! And if I get home and Richard tells me otherwise… well, I’ll just call up a few of my new friends in the government and we’ll see where they send you.” Mamie glared cruelly. “Richard is the son of an American hero, who bravely served keeping the world safe from terrorists.” She held out a finger and pointed at Aliyah. “My gorgeous, _white_ son doesn’t follow orders from… from people like you!” 

There was silence in the kitchen. Aliyah knew she should quit - her head was thumping at the mistreatment, and her belly felt like a wash of cold water had been poured into it. Never had she expected to be put in such a position. She had helped to raise both Richard and Ali for several years, and during that time had occasionally acted as an authority figure, telling Richard to wash up for dinner, to stop picking on Ali, to get into bed before his mother got home. In the last six months, though, things had changed. Richard had started to backtalk her, had taken a keep interest military paraphernalia and stories of his father… and had started to call both her and Ali all manner of names.

And the boy was changing in other ways, as well. Aliyah had twice spied him looking at internet videos that seemed highly inappropriate, videos in which Persian girls with veils were in situations that a boy his age should never see. In each case, she had intentionally made a noise to alert Richard she was coming, to spare the embarrassment of a confrontation. She had meant to bring it up to Mamie, but the time had never been right. And now, with Richard pushing his luck more and more and more with each passing week, the spanking situation had unfolded.

“Y-yes, missus,” Aliyah said, submissively. “Of course I will do whatever Richard wishes.”

“Say, I’ll do whatever your white son tells me to do,” Mamie said, her voice sharp. “I want to hear it.”

“I…” Aliyah said, and her voice caught in her throat. “I… I will do whatever your white son wishes of me,” she said. Richard smiled as she said it, and Ali looked up with a curious look in his eye that Aliyah didn’t like, internalizing everything that was going on. Her own son was seeing every bit of this, of her being completely submissive to, and obeying, the white devils who held her employment contract around her neck like a noose.

“Good,” Mamie said, and looked down at her son. “That sounds fine, doesn’t it, Richard?” 

Richard smiled, and, keeping eye contact with Aliyah. “Yeah,” he said. “That sounds _real_ good.”

“It’s settled, then,” Mamie said, and dusted her hands brusquely. “I’m going to go pack. Aliyah, get dinner on the table for Richard and I. Something American, you understand? I know you had prepared to make _falafil_ , but… I don’t think that’s quite appropriate now.”

“Yes, missus,” Aliyah obeyed, and, her body tingling with unease, set to work making the burgers and fries that were Richard’s favorites.

* * *

Aliyah was surprised by Richard’s first action after they saw his mother off on her book tour. As her airport shuttle arrived and took her away, they waved from the front steps, and then Richard tugged on the black sleeve of Aliyah’s garment. “I have a present for you,” he said. Aliyah didn’t quite know how to reply, and was stammering a confused thanks when he disappeared up the stairs to the second floor, where his room was located.

When Richard returned, he was holding a large box that had been poorly-wrapped in newspaper and catalog pages, the hallmark of a young boy inexpert in the process. It was perhaps a foot by two feet, and shallow. Before giving it to her, though, Richard simply looked up at his caretaker and asked a question: “Why do you wear that?”

“Why do I wear what?” Aliyah replied, automatically. She was stalling for time, taken aback by the question.

“That thing on your head, and that big gown.” His eyes were probing, curious. A gift, and then a question about her traditional clothing? Aliyah wondered if the boy could be offering an olive branch.

“This is called _hijab_ ,” Aliyah explained, patiently. “Where I come from, most women wear it. The gown is all part of it - hijab means ‘veil’” She paused. “Can you say that? Hijab?”

“ _Hijab_ ,” said Richard, experimentally. His blue eyes were twinkling.

“I wear it because it is tradition,” Aliyah explained, taking on a gentle, lecturing tone. “I gives me a strong collection to Islam.” She paused. “That is my religion.”

“So you _have_ to wear it?” Richard asked. There was an expression on his face she couldn’t quite read.

“I choose to wear it.”

“But you could choose to wear something else?”

“Ye… w-well, no,” Aliyah explained. Her heart was beating faster. She felt like the boy was somehow leading her. His line of questioning about clothing, along with the mystery box that could only be a garment… it was possible that his gift, while perhaps well-meaning, might be a piece of clothing she would be loathe to wear. “It is not as simple as choosing.” She took on her studious tone again, wagging her finger as she fluttered her large, almond-shaped eyes shut. ”The Holy Quran says that wearing this veil and dress is considered an instruction from God.”

Richard pressed on. “So you’re supposed to cover up? I bet if guys saw your huge boobs and ass they’d be all horny, huh?”

His voice was serious and did not indicate etasing, but Aliyah immediately blushed crimson at the sound of a twelve-year-old boy saying such things to her. It was scandalous. “Richard, you should not say… it is… I don’t have that, my body is a normal size for a woman of my age-”

Richard raised an eyebrow. He was wearing a tee-shirt and his camo shorts, showing off knees slightly scraped from endless playtime diving into bunkers of pillows and pantomiming double-tap kills on imagined mujahadeen. “Huh? Sure you do, Miss Aliyah. I’ve been watching. Your boobs and butt are the biggest ever!”

“They are _not_!” Aliyah’s objection was more forceful this time, and her eyes stole a glance down at her body - the bulging shelf formed by her breasts. She even ran a hand down to her own hip experimentally. She had given no thought to how she looked to the may sets of American eyes that were on her each day, during trips to the market or dropping the boys off at school. Her body had always seemed normal to her, but now the little American brat was driving a wedge of doubt into her mind.

“That’s why you should wear something besides that black sheet,” Richard said, and he held out the shoddily-wrapped present in her direction. Aliyah could have made an issue of his description of her clothing as a ‘sheet’, or of his request that she change out of something that was a religious obligation, but she knew there was no point. Richard was just _waiting_ for her to refuse so he could tattle to his mother and have her sacked, or use her refusal as leverage to act like a terror around the house.

She held out her hand and took the box, her face glum, tugging at the tape and paper while Richard’s smile grew until it reached ear to ear on his young face. The box top came off and tumbled down, and Aliyah’s gorgeous almond-shaped eyes went wide as saucers. Inside, laying flat as if at a boutique display, was a bra and a pair of panties - and both pieces were scandalously small! The top was little more than a pair of black triangles held together by string, with a little black lace around the too-small cups. And the bottom was nothing more than a thong with the tiniest strip of fabric for a back… not even the width of a shoelace!

“Richard!” Aliyah gasped. “Where did you get this? Did you order it online?”

Richard smiled at his own resourcefulness, but refused to tell. “It’s a gift for you,” he said. “I know over in Egypt or wherever, they’re always making women wear all sorts of stuff even when it's real hot outside,” he said. “But this is America, so you can wear this, and show off a little!” His face became a bit doubtful… but it was only play-acting. “You wouldn’t want to refuse my gift and make me sad, would you?”

“I could never wear such a thing!” Aliyah objected again, her voice becoming very flustered at the situation the boy had placed her in. She glanced left and right, trying to think about where Ali would be, and Richard seemed to sense her intent.

“Ali is up in my room using my computer,” Richard explained. “I’ve been showing him all sorts of videos of arab women like you!”

“Videos!” Aliyah’s tone became even more alarmed. She had seen a peek of the sort of ‘videos’ Richard was watching and they were all extremely inappropriate! “Ali shouldn’t watch such things!”

But Richard waved a hand and dismissed her. “Mom said you have to do what I ask, and I want you to try on my present,” the boy said, his eyes beaming. “If you don’t, I’ll have to call up my mom and tell her you’re being real mean to me and making me read the quran and say ‘Death To America!’ before you’ll make me breakfast!”

Aliyah’s mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t!” she cried. “That is all a filthy lie!”

Richard only shrugged. Aliyah looked down at the underwear again. She already had underwear, of course - _sensible_ underwear that did the job of holding her body in the proper places. The only sensible choice was to refuse the boundary-pushing Caucasian boy, but that was the one choice that wasn’t available… unless she wanted to send her and her son back to a life of hardship and war. 

“Very well, I will wear it,” Aliyah said, her voice trembling. “But it is underwear. So I must still wear the hijab overtop.”

“We’ll see,” Richard said, and his confidence was maddening. Though Aliyah was a 34-year-old woman and he was just a boy, the balance of power between them was shifted in a way that made her stomach buzzing with nervousness. She had no idea what he would do or say, his actions the previous months had gotten more and more brazen and inappropriate. Aliyah found herself feeling, and not for the first time, that it was another example of a theme prevalent in her life - driven from regions destabilized by imperialism, and now, even in her new home, being tossed like a listing ship on the Caucasian sea. The infidels always seemed to take what they wanted, no matter how blasphemous their desires!

“I will go change,” Aliyah said, and took the box with her into the downstairs bathroom to do just that. Her own reflection seemed to look back at her in accusatory fashion for her indulgence of this white boy, saying that a true Muslim would simply accept the deportation as fate dictated by the will of Allah. But Aliyah was unwilling to return Ali to that sort of environment, and so she doffed her sensible white underwear, panties first, letting them drop around her ankles (her feet, though the nails were unpainted, were shapely and flawlessly complexioned) and then stepping into the bottom that Richard had provided.

Aliyah gasped as the silk garment pulled up into her crotch. She had bunched her black gown around her hips in order to pull it up all the way, and with this new style of underwear, felt as if her entire body were spilling out. Instead of firm support of her extremely round bottom, she felt the thong string absolutely disappearing between her buttocks… her sensibly-kept pubic hair spilling over the top of the crotch… she could even feel the too-small thong back tickling against her asshole! 

The bra was just as bad. It required a complete removal of her gown, and she looked into the mirror as she tried to replace her white bra with the new black one, the cups of which seemed designed to cover as little as possible. Never mind her breasts - the triangular pieces of fabric barely covered her swollen, protruding nipples! Hints of their porous, raised circumferences could be seen peeking out from behind, and as for the breasts themselves - forget it! They were weighing down into the cups and stretching the straps taut from shoulder down, looking like they might bust out any moment. There was underboob, side boob, top boob - a canyon of cleavage to rival any of the landmarks of her homeland - and no matter how she adjusted it or fussed, it made the situation no better. Her body was simply too much!

She heard Richard’s voice in her mind: _I bet if guys saw your huge boobs and ass they’d be all horny, huh?_

My body is not like that, Aliyah countered, pushing the thought away. But a look in the mirror said otherwise. Her breasts were absolutely massive, the undersides of the bulging burnished spheres curved almost as far down as her navel. The underwear bottom did almost nothing to hide the thick, fat mound of her pudenda - even her hooded clit could be seen, along with a generous portion of ‘camel toe’, and though she had never heard or used that term herself, she certainly could identify what it was. “Oh, dear!” Aliyah gasped, and then turned sideways and looked over her shoulder in spite of herself to reveal yet more unfortunate physiological news.

Her thong bottom was vanishing between two gleaming, bubble butt cheeks that seemed as big as roast chickens. She reached down, lifted one, and let it drop. It made a clapping noise and jiggled, holding a roughly spherical shape. She worked hard for the LeBlanc family, and apparently her cleaning and caretaking had sculpted her into a rather ostentatious shape - a gym-worthy core with plenty of jiggly _Arab_ _MILF meat_ packed on around it! 

“Oh dear,” she repeated again, and let out a huffing sigh. She would not admit to herself that the boy’s assessment could possibly be correct, and donned her gown again hurriedly, neck to ankle, covering up the evidence. She took a step toward the door and gasped. Her boobs were bouncing like crazy beneath her clothing, and she could actually feel the underwear digging into her private areas… an unfamiliar and not entirely unpleasant feeling. Gathering herself, Aliyah returned to the hallway, where she found Richard waiting, with an expectant smile on his face.

“How does it feel? Do you like it?” asked the boy.

“It is underwear, it feels… the same,” Aliyah answered. She felt a sudden urge to get out of the situation before any further indignity befell her. “You should go and play, Richard, and I will make your dinner-”

“Show me your hair,” Richard said, equal parts insistent and disinterested in her demur. “All these years I never saw it even once.”

Aliyah blushed and looked distressed. “I cannot. It is forbidden. The Holy Quran says-”

“Are you refusing me?” Richard replied, his voice sharp. “I guess you better tell Ali to pack since you’re gonna get fired and sent back to Kuwait. I’m gonna go call my mom right now on her cellphone. I bet she’s not even at the airport yet-”

Aliyah let out a frustrated gasp and her hands went to her head covering with speed that surprised and ashamed her. How could a _young white boy_ be making her do things against her responsibility to god? She did not know, only knowing that her hands almost moved of their own accord. She took the black top of her veil and pulled it back, shaking her head to let the hair fall loose. Richard’s eyes went wide at what unfurled. He had never seen it before, but Aliyah had gorgeous, shimmering black hair that undulated in shallow waves nearly to her middle back. It was hair worthy of a Disney princess, and when hanging down framed her regal face perfectly, accenting her skin tone and the golden promise of her eyes. While before she had looked restricted and prim, now she looked _wild_.

“You look way better like that,” Richard assessed, and there was a look in his eyes that seemed almost hungry. There was tension forming between them that made Aliyah very nervous.

“It is not permitted,” she explained again. But the words fell out of her mouth and went nowhere.

“Turn around and let me touch it,” Richard asked. 

_Just how far is this crazy American boy going to take this,_ Aliyah wondered _._ Then she thought of his elaborate games of make-believe, the way he seemed to treat Middle Eastern people as jihadist stereotypes or props to be shot in “covert ops” missions, not to mention the videos of veil-wearing women she’d spied him watching, videos in which they knelt before white men suggestively and performed acts she could not bring herself to watch. It occurred to her that the way Richard saw people of her origin and skin color, he might take it very far indeed.

She turned around, standing with her hands at her sides and her shining black hair trailing down her back - a mane worthy of a Persian queen. Seconds later she felt a gentle tug as Richard began running his hands through it, kneading it, stroking it experimentally. She felt the boy lean in and make a sniffing noise, and realized that he was taking a whiff of her hair, which was perfumed with shampoo and conditioner. The sense of being _perused_ , being _sampled_ by a young Caucasian boy washed over her and made her stomach tremble again with that queer sense of tension.

“It smells real good,” Richard said. “You should wear your hair like that from now on.”

“It is not-” Aliyah started, but before she could finish with the word permitted, something else happened that interrupted her train of thought completely. Two firm, small hands gripped tightly on her buttocks, using probing thumbs and splayed fingers to grope her rear end… and there was an impact directly between her cheeks that could only be Richard’s face! The boy, the perfect height to sample her goods, had simply buried his face into the cloth of her black body covering as far and as hard as he could.

 _Sniiiiiiiiffffff!_ Richard took a deep inhale and jiggled her rump around his face. The only respite for Aliyah was to stumble forward, and she did so, bracing her palms on the wall and looking back over her shoulder. “Richard! You must not do that!” she admonished, blushing ever-so-deeply. Her stomach quivering with his inappropriate attentions and the knowledge that she had no recourse. This young white boy had grabbed her rump like it was a piece of meat and she could feel his nose poking the fabric forward and deeper into her asscrack!

“Miss Aliyah, you’ve got a lot of _Arabian ass meat!_ ” Richard assessed, pulling his face back and jiggling her butt mounds with his hands as she braced against the wall with her knees knocked and her face reddening. “My hands would sink right in if it wasn’t for your outfit!”

“Richard!” Aliyah complained, but the boy was ignoring her even more overtly now.

“Bounce your butt up and down!” Richard ordered. “I want to see if it makes a noise!”

“I will _not_!” Aliyah wailed. “This has gone too far! Your mother would not have meant-”

“I don’t care what she meant!” Richard barked, and his voice had changed to something more menacing. Aliyah had considered him just an impetuous and aggressive youth, but there was an intelligence working there too which she realized had been cultivated by Richard’s obsession with his father’s exploits in Afghanistan and Syria, fighting ISIS. “If you don’t do what I say, I’ll tell her you spanked me again, and that you’re abusive, and you’ll get thrown in jail or deported!” His voice dared her to put him to the test.

“Now,” Richard went on. “I want you to say _‘I’m going to shake my big sand nigger butt cheeks for you!_ ”

 _This boy is a white devil_ , Aliyah thought. Much as she’d been willing to absorb his abuse and mischief, much as part of her had resigned herself to always being disrespected by white males, and willing to accept that for son Ali’s sake, and his access to good schools and a higher-standard of life, this was crossing a new threshold entirely. 

Aliyah found herself paralyzed.

“I’m calling my mom in ten seconds,” Richard said. It was an echo of the bedtime countdowns she had given him for years; she had also threatened to tell his mother if he didn’t obey and get into his pajamas. Now, the shoe was on the other foot. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.”

She could not, would not do it. To shake her rump like a prostitute for an underage boy, showing of her sexual charms in a direct contradiction to all morality as well as the laws of god, was something she could not do. Ali flashed in her mind - her gentle and innocent, easily-manipulated son - and she saw an image of him starving, playing games of soccer with other emaciated boys in between dodging mortar fire amongst the ruins of some far-away desert slum.

“Six. Five. Four. Say it! SAY IT!”

She _could_.

“I… I will shake my… my _sand nigger_ butt cheeks for you,” Aliyah said, her voice tortured. She spread her legs and squatted down a little, knowing instinctively what he wanted to see, and gyrated her hips up and down. Tears welled in her eyes as she utterly degraded herself for a brown-haired, blue-eyed All-American kid.

_Whop whop whop whop whop whop whop whop!_

The sound of her ass-cheeks clapping confirmed that she was, in fact, dummy thicc. Aliyah moaned with dismay and shame as the sound of her bronzed, jiggling ass-mounds echoed in the hallway. She had always denied her body, covering it up, but now she was making it ring out for all to see! She could feel the scant fabric of her new underwear tugging and tickling deep in her most sacred places, and that wasn’t all. Giving in - passing the point of no return, acknowledging that the boy had all the power - was making her nerves twitch and her stomach tremble. It was bringing a flush to her face and a matching engorgement to other places as well. Her nipples, she realized with shame, were growing hard, and the pearl of her sex was tingling in its thong-backed cradle.

“Your butt is like a big fat pair of camel humps!” Richard crowed, watching with fascination. “Keep going! Shake that Shiite shitter, Miss Aliyah!” The boy seemed to be really enjoying himself. As she debased herself, he reared back and spanked her once, then again, the sound muffled by the black gown but still loud. Then, Aliyah felt Richard stoop and grab the gown, looking to lift it up.

“N-no!” she moaned, eyes squinting shut. But she did not resist or pull away, knowing it would only bring a repetition of the ten second countdown and the associated threats of dismissal. Thus, for the first time, she felt her garment being rolled up her thighs and pulled over the protruding curve of her rear, exposing her completely! 

At first, all Richard could do was marvel, like an explorer who had just opened a treasure chest to reveal a trove of wealth. As he held up Aliyah’s clothes in a bunched up wad in her lower back, in front of his face was the biggest, brownest, juiciest ass anyone could have imagined. “Hold it up!” he ordered, making Aliyah take over gown-grabbing duty, and he moved his own hands forward to dive in. Each one of her perfectly-curated asscheeks was much larger than his young head and uniformly complexioned a golden brown. He took a grip, one hand on each side, and felt the warmth and buoyancy of the flesh. His fingers sank into Aliyah’s butt as her thiccness spilled between his fingers.

He pressed out to the sides with his hands and her buttocks piled in drifts around his pushing, opening up to reveal the valley between, where a single string of thong passed over her puffy pudenda and the slightly-pinker ring of her inviting asshole. Richard noted that the winking, twitching orifice had a beauty mark close to the rim, just like the ones beneath Aliyah’s eye and on the corner of her mouth. She made a tiny chirping noise as she felt his breath slide over her asshole.

“Your big fat pussy looks like the lips of a camel,” Richard said. “But that makes sense for a camel-jockey!” He moved one hand down and Aliyah gasped again as he began to fondle her, taking a palmful of her protruding mons and smearing it around, grinding against her clit. “Say it!” Richard prompted, his eyes twinkling like a brat with a new toy. “Say what I just said!”

“M-my big fat pussy… l-looks like the lips of a camel!” Aliyah moaned, and she bit down on her lip to deny the sensations that the boy’ attention was bringing. Something about the inevitability of it was stirring feelings in her, more so than the pure physical sensation of stimulus.

“Spread ‘em!” Richard ordered. “Show me everything!”

Begging Allah’s forgiveness, Aliyah did so. She arched her back and stuck out her bulging, jiggling rear and used two hands to spread her butt cheeks as far as they could go, distorting her asshole into a disc shape with the horizontal tension. Even her adult hands were barely enough to keep all of her ass-meat apart. Richard gave her instructions as she presented herself, asking that she say things and speak to him as he wanted, and she obeyed, rationalizing it in the familiar way, slipping further past the point of no return.

She obediently told him that she loved the feeling of an American boy’s hand on her _Kuwaiti cunt-flaps_ , that her _shithole was used to fucking tons of camel cock_ , that she loved letting Caucasian boys do whatever they wanted with big, round _hajji_ asshole. She called herself a ‘sand nigger’ and a ‘dune coon’ as he desired and performed whatever acts of degradation he wished, knowing it had to end sometime; not willing to admit the way it was making her body feel.

After what seemed like forever but was probably only five minutes, Richard gave a further instruction: “Take it all off.” She did so, pulling her black gown over her head and tossing it aside along with the rest of her veil in a rumbled pile by the front door. Her enormous breasts were exposed for the first time, so large that curves of juicy, caramel-hued sideboob could be seen from directly behind her.

“One of the guys from my dad’s unit told me that hajjis have the fattest asses and the best pussy,” Richard remarked. “I’ve been readin’ all sorts of stuff online, you know? I read that when you put a white dick in a hajji whore she cums right away.” She heard the sound of more clothing being doffed, more clothing that was not her own, and spun around to put her back against the wall. She was opening her mouth to say that Richard was too young for such things, but was confronted with immediate evidence to the contrary - Richard had dropped his camo shorts around his sneakers and was stepping out of the leg holes, his sprightly young frame moving nimbly while something long bounced down below the bottom of his American flag tee shirt.

Though he had no pubic hair and was no taller than her elbow, twelve-year-old Richard LeBlanc had an absolutely _massive_ cock that would put most adults to shame! Aliyah was no veteren of such matters, but she knew what cocks generally looked like - small and non-threatening in nests of pubic hair until stimulated, then growing to a size sufficient to the task. Yet Richard, despite lack of development elsewhere, seemed to be as long and as thick as her elbow to her wrist!

“ _Ya’Allah!_ ” she exclaimed, in the rough equivalent of ‘oh my god!’ Certainly no passage in the Quran or any hadith had prepared her for the sight of a big, smooth, flopping length of all-American meat dangling between Richard’s legs. She had always considered Western males to be boors, and sometimes sex-crazed animals. It was part of her justification for wearing the _hijab_ \- to protect her chastity from such devils. Still, to see such a literal expression of Caucasian virility and sexual supremacy, it was-

“Richard it’s-”

“It’s real big, huh?” Richard said, putting his hands on his hips with pride and thrusting out his pelvis. “It started gettin’ super big just this year! That’s when I started looking online for girls like you. ‘Cause you had that big butt and boobs but you wouldn’t show me!”

Aliyah didn’t know what to say to that. She fell to her knees and looked transfixed at Richard’s enormous cock, the way it smoothly dangled down between his slender legs, nearly reaching his knee. Eight inches? Nine? Because of his size it looked even bigger… and her heart ached with the _unfairness_ of it all. All her life, when envisioning the exemplar of maleness, she had thought of proud, pious men of her own race. She had dreamt that in America she would find a Muslim man progressive enough to give her and Ali the freedoms she was denied back home, but pious enough to observe the holy traditions that were important to her. And when she’d imagined the appearance of such a man, he was bearded, powerful, and yes, gifted enough to put the ‘ram’ in _haraam_ . Yet this young, beardless Caucasian boy was presenting a monster meat stick that put every Middle Eastern man she had ever seen to shame! White people already had _so much_ , and this further advantage, it was just… just…

“You… white devil!” Aliyah seethed. She felt a quivering in her crotch and a tingling in her nipples, and resented every bit of it. The stains she had been finding in his sheets thus had an obvious explanation - the boy had been undergoing a sexual awakening under her nose, and stroking that Caucasian cum cannon to orgasm every night while using his laptop to peruse video after video of submissive Muslim women being abused by their white captors!

“The spot where the underside of your huge boobs comes together kinda looks like a pussy,” Richard said, ignoring her. “Get over here and put your boobs around my dick.” 

Aliyah was now rationalizing however she could, treating this newest indignity as a trial from god. She had already endured much for the sake of her son, this further indignity was no worse than what captive women no doubt faced back home when taken by enemy sects. In a perverse way, she had started to see it as her lot in life. Knee-walking across the front-hall tile, she approached to within a few inches of Richard and looked at the smiling boy’s penis more closely. He was circumcised, the head about the same thickness as the shaft. The tip was leaking a milky white fluid that was slowly dripping to the underside of the glans. Blushing deeply, Aliyah turned her head away, shut her eyes, and put her forearms on the outside of her bulging, teardrop-shaped breasts, pressing them together and shaping the underside as the perfect insertion point for cock.

Richard’s face took on a greedy look as she moved forward. His hot cocktip lodged in the triangular boob window and Aliyah gasped at the heat coming from it. “Ask me to do it,” Richard ordered. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, holding a handful of that gorgeous perfumed hair as he did so. Aliyah’s face blushed even redder and she swallowed like a diver, fearful of jumping from a great height.

“P-please… f-fuck my big, fat _Arabic m-milkers_ ,” Aliyah stammered. “Have sex with them like they were a virgin’s… I mean, you must fuck fiercely at them with your white cock-”

“You’re so bad at this!” Richard barked, and this time he yanked her hair, and Aliyah gasped. A young boy, controlling her head like she was a dog, making her say such things. “Say it like you mean it, you _dumb dune coon_!” He gave one of her breasts a slap and the meat jiggled as it drew out another moan.

“Please rape my worthless terrorist tit-pussy!” Aliyah cried.

“What are you?” Richard prompted.

“A… a…” Aliyah gasped, searching for the right combination from the words Richard had already said. “I’m a big-titted, camel-fucking piece of shit!” 

“Yeah!” the boy seethed, and he clenched his small, round bottom and thrust his pelvis up, slicing his leaking cocktip into the unspeakably welcoming valley of her breasts with a lewd, meaty sound. His balls, big and round extra-large eggs, bounced against her belly, and he went on his tiptoes to force himself as far as he could into.

“It feels so good!” Richard sighed, biting his lip as he balanced on his tippy toes, clenching his butt. “I’m gonna fuck your big brown tits every day from now on.” He began to withdraw slightly and thrust back in, getting into a rhythm that made a slapping noise, flap flap flap - his balls hitting the underside of her boobs and the movement of her titflesh around his shaft. Aliyah slumped down a little at his promise to fuck her every day, and Richard’s cocktip, leaking sperm already, began emerging from the top of her cleavage and nearly striking her in the chin.

 _Whop, whop, whop, whop, whop_. The thrusts created sounds that Aliyah found utterly humiliating, for they seemed to prove just how much jiggling, clapping tit-meat she possessed, in spite of her early denials. The thrusts started to lose friction as a combination of leaking sperm and sweat eased Richard’s passage, and she realized that her nipples were tingling, reacting in some sexual way to the boy’s attention. Between her legs was even worse. For reasons she couldn’t understand, or wasn’t willing to admit, she felt arousal, and wet between the legs. An unwilling physiological response? Aliyah didn’t know, and didn’t want to admit the way he mind was turning; twisting on itself to rationalize and view this hardship as god’s will.

 _A little blue-eyed American boy is fucking my tits_ , her inner voice admitted. I am like his concubine… and his huge penis is bigger than any Muslim man I have ever met, even though he is only twelve years old. _Yet my private parts are tingling. What does that say about me? About all my people?_

“You like this don’t you?” Richard teased. His voice was growing strained, as if he might pop off at any moment. “You’re biting your lip and stuff!”

“I do not! You are forcing me!” But she _had been_ biting her lip, and she was feeling sensations against her will.

“I heard a guy in my dad’s unit say that any Muslim girl will fuck for some extra MREs,” Richard huffed. “That’s what you’re doing, huh? You don’t want to get fired so you’ll do whatever I want! It’s the same thing.”

Aliyah let out a moan and her legs trembled as more of that intense, tingling feeling spread through her pelvis. The horrible truth of his words and the power dynamic between them seemed almost like permission to do what was needed to survive! She was almost… almost… enjoying it!

“Hnngh!” Richard gasped and his small, thin body thrust up and forward as heartily as he could manage. Aliyah saw his pisshole emerge from her cleavage on the final, deep thrust, and then, despite not planning to do so in advance, clamped her mouth around the tip, making her lips stretch out in a long aardvark nose shape. Richard gasped out in time with his climax, and for the first time in her life, Aliyah felt thick, jelly-like bursts of hot semen blasting all over her tongue and teeth.

She made a gurgling noise as her mouth was used as a receptacle. Shot, after shot, after shot, after shot. First her teeth swam in it and then her whole tongue. Her cheeks puffed out. She could have never imagined that a cute young boy like Richard could produce so much thick and virile semen. It bubbled up in her mouth in a hot, gooey mess until it was coming out of her narrow, regal nose. She could feel his piss-tube _bulging_ with the volume of ejaculate. 

_He’s just a kid but he’s shooting as much as a horse_ , she thought, her head growing dizzy. _And it's so thick and chunky! Are all American boys this… this…_

 _Splllrrrttt!_ Another plume of hot nut sauce bubbled into her mouth Aliyah was forced to swallow, her graceful neck bulging lewdly as she took an enormous gulp of the steaming, nasty genetic material down in her belly. She felt faint, and then as Richard uttered an exhausted gasp and let his hips drop and his penis tip fall from her mouth, she heaved and puked back up some of the bounty into her cleavage. Aliyah was left breathing hard herself, with sperm dripping from the corner of her mouth and down her chin, and a mass of lumpy semen smeared between her large and sweat-glistening tits.

“Aw, you were supposed to swallow the whole thing,” Richard griped, then waved a hand. “You’ll do better next time.”

“N-next time?” Aliyah moaned, swallowing again to clear the remnants of cum from her mouth. 

“You’re gonna suck my dick and drink all my cum every day from now on,” Richard insisted, smiling in a way that was both innocent and inevitable. Aliyah saw her life stretching out in front of her and was alarmed at her physical reaction to it. Waking up each day with that big, fat American penis to tend to. Forsaking all for the sake of maintaining a life in the west, giving up her mouth and breasts to this white devil. And as she contemplated this, she heard a voice that made her blood run cold.

“Mama?”

Aliyah’s eyes went wide. It was Ali, looking down from the second-floor landing, still in his tee-shirt and pajama bottoms that did little to hide his girlish hips. Predictably, his large and expressive brown eyes were filled with confusion. “What are you doing with Richard?”

“Ali, you must not- nnnnngh!” Aliyah’s request that her son leave and return to his room was interrupted by Richard, who had circled around behind her and pushed her down onto her hands and knees. His hands took hold of her hips as he stood menacingly, his cock returning quickly to full hardness.

“Ali has been watching a special playlist of videos I made for him,” Richard explained, and Aliyah’s heart sank as she knew exactly what videos the boy was referring to. She winced as she felt Richard’s cocktip sliding against the tiny crotch of her panties, splitting her puffy pussy-mound like a hotdog in a bun, rubbing against her sizzling clit. 

“Please,” Aliyah begged. “Not this.”

Richard took two handfuls of her long, jet-black hair like the reigns of a horse, and then, with Ali watching, speared his hardening cock into her molten, sopping cunt box. Shamefully, she was so wet that it almost made a goosh sound when it went in, and stray droplets of lube spattered everywhere as his girthy prong cored out her superheated vaginal canal.

“She’s like those women I showed you,” Richard calle up to Ali, and he began thrusting into Aliyah, who was wide-eyed, open-mouthed, and utterly overwhelmed by what was happening. It was like a ticking bomb in her stomach. She felt like a dam, holding back against western pressure and influence, was about to rupture. “Ali, tell your mom what videos you watched.”

Ali trembled nervously, but didn’t look away. “I watched… Hijab Whores For American Cock… Muslim Slut Sucks White Stud-”

Aliyah cried out with pleasure as Richard’s long penis reached deeper in her pussy than any Middle Eastern cock ever had. The pressure… the pressure! The alternative was deportation and death, in the shadow of that, how could it not be permitted to do whatever was necessary to survive? She let out a long, mewling moan as she heard Ali recite the titles of what he had been watching. Her son had been watching people of his own race submitting to white cock, and now he was going to watch his own mother. It was just as well, for Ali was… compared to Richard…

She bit her lip and seethed out a shuddering moan as her percolating, spasming pussy made her whole body quake with a minor cum. Her tits were swinging like cum-soaked udders and her butt cheeks bouncing with each or Richard’s thrusts.

“Tell your son to take his dick out,” Richard ordered her. “Tell him!”

Aliyah did. She told Ali to come down the stairs and get his penis out, no longer considering any alternative but to obey Richard. The shyness and slowness with which Ali moved, and the swishing effeminate nature of his body, again reminded her of the difference between her people - her genes - and the reproductive power she had swallowed down to her stomach in thick, jelly-like mouthfuls.

Eventually, Ali presented his tiny penis and his round bottom, just inches from her face. The boy was blushing and looked like he would keep over from embarrassment, but as ever, he obeyed his mother. “How big is it? How big is it compared to mine?” Richard prompted.

“It’s… barely an inch,” Aliyah moaned, her voice sounding lamentatious as she looked with dismay at her only son’s pathetic, undeveloped endowment. Embarrassingly, it was poking out stiffly from his hairless pubic area, turned on by the sight of his mother in a situation he’d been trained to see as normal. “It’s… tiny compared to your… huge cock! One-tenth the size!” Richard tore into her pussy from a new angle and she yelped and arched her back even more, presenting her ass, presenting her pussy for him to plunder, making her boobs smosh against the floor.

“Your son is a tiny-dicked Muslim faggot compared to me, isn’t he?” Richard growled. “All Muslims are pieces of shit compared to white people, right? Say it! Say it like you mean it!”

Aliyah nodded. “Yes! My son… his unworthy worm dick makes me want to puke! All Muslim women are pieces of shit who should be raped by superior white cock!” It was getting harder and harder for her to talk, she began to make moaning and gasping noises with each thrust, stimulated beyond the point of no return and, indeed, the point of sanity and morality. She felt Richard dig and scrape his size into the depths of her pussy and she knew she would never be the same again. The explosion was coming and she could not stop it.

“You’re so wet!” Richard cried out, his breath harried and his thrusts growing more desperate and brutal. “It’s like your fat camel cunt is sucking my dick! Tell me what you want! What you want for the rest of your life!”

Aliyah’s eyes rolled back and became totally blank as she felt something untether inside herself. One of Richard’s battering strokes pressed up against her cervix as it abraded and plundered her slick walls and membranes. Her answer came from deep inside her in an animalistic, depraved voice.

“White… rape!” she purred, thrusting her round, brown ass-cheeks back against Richard’s pelvis to make his thrusts even more brutal. “You must… nnngh... you must fuck me up every day! You must… nnngah! Ahhh! I’m… a stupid sand nigger! A dune coon! Ahhh! You must bless my terrorist cunt with... your... white... rape! Uwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!”

Her cry rose high enough that it seemed it would shatter the front windows. Aliyah no longer seemed human and was unrecognizable as her former dignified self. Her body was detonating in a brutal, soul-wrenching cum quake that was ten times as powerful as any orgasm she’d ever experienced. A starburst of pleasure exploded outward from her G-spot, her womb, her clitoris, and didn’t subside at all for at least thirty seconds. Her muscles clenched and she dimly sensed Richard clinging to her butt, leaning over her, emptying his big Caucasian balls in her womb, that fat pisshole spraying into her sacred, life-giving place, and in that moment she was sure, absolutely one-hundred percent _positive_ that she was getting pregnant. She was creaming all over Richard’s cock and her ovaries were aching with the need to serve as a conquering white male’s personal baby sack. In her mind’s eye, even as she swooned, she could see Richard’s fat, oversized stud sperm burrowing into her egg and fertilizing her.

She could not count the time until her body stopped spasming with orgasm. Aliyah felt like her nerve-endings were on the verge of burning out from the pleasure. She squirted all over Richard’s cock, his balls, and her own inner thighs before the whole thing subsided and she slumped to the floor, breathing heavily, and became aware that Ali had slumped down beside her. The boy had jerked himself to his first, cumless orgasm, watching his mother be fucked.

A shadow fell over her. Richard was standing over her, his long, flaccid cock hanging down and dripping sperm, but still thick. His creampie was bubbling out of her pussy; the amount he had shot inside her was amazing. Aliyah blinked, cockstruck, and struggled to a kneeling position, reaching out with blank, dull eyes to take Richard’s long penis and lift the tip.

“There is no god but god,” she whispered, and planted a reverent kiss on his tip. Richard nodded with approval, took her by the hair and led her like a dog over to the living room couch. She would suck his balls for the next half hour, he decreed. She did not refuse or resist.

Her hijab still lay crumpled by the front door.

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

“Wake up, my beautiful, handsome white god.”

Aliyah’s voice was soft and respectful as she knelt near the edge of Richard’s bed. The boy slept with a camo coverlet and a Nerf Blaster in the style of an assault rifle. Littered beside the boxboard were dozens of military-themed action figures.

Aliyah had been transformed in the previous nine months. She no longer wore the _hijab_ , replacing it instead with a variety of All-American daisy duke cutoff booty shorts and scant halter tops. This day, she was in a tiny bikini and high heels emblazoned with the stars and stripes of Old Glory. The bra cups were barely able to contain her huge, porous nipples let alone her breasts, and the bikini bottom did nothing to cover the bulging semi-circles of her rear. More prominent even than those bodily swellings though was her humiliating, massively-pregnant baby gut, an enormous, shining brown sphere of taut skin that looked ready to drop a kid at any moment.

Richard sat up and swung his short legs over the side of the bed, and Aliyah immediately moaned with pleasure and dipped her face into his crotch, nuzzling her nose against the fly of his camo boxer shorts and fishing out his morning wood with an appreciative, anticipatory noise of hunger. Immediately, she started bobbing her mouth up and down on it, forming a tight and sucking seal with lips that were plumped up and painted with a flesh-toned gloss. Prior to this pregnancy, she had never worn much in the way of cosmetics - but now she had a beautiful opal shade on her eyelids to go with the gloss.

That wasn’t the only change she had made to her body. Her belly was sporting a womb tattoo featuring an vicious-looking eagle with arrows in one talon and an olive branch in the other - a stylized representation of the Great Seal of the United States. Indeed, she now considered her body to be U.S. soil under the command of a now 13-year-old boy, and would follow any order he gave and fulfill any expectation.

“Get that stupid towel-head faggot in here,” Richard ordered, wiping sleep from one of his large and expressive blue eyes. Aliyah pulled her head off of his cock only long enough to beckon her son Ali, who swaggered into the room wearing nothing but the silks and veil of a Persian belly dancer. Utterly deprived of self-respect and testosterone, Ali was developing very much along the lines of his mother, with hips that were curvy, puffy nipples, pert lips, deep light-brown eyes, and a rather round and large rear.

“Shall I perform for Master Richard, mama?” the boy asked, sweetly, and Aliyah nodded even as she choked and gagged herself on Richard’s fat cock, making her throat swell. Having received confirmation, Ali began to gyrate and shake his hips and hold his arms in a T-pose, imitating dancing lessons he had studied on the internet. His one-inch cock had, if anything, gotten smaller, and Aliyah suspected that Ali would never develop any further. To her, it was just as well - a Muslim boy could hardly hope to threaten the superiority and virility of his western, judeo-Christian studbull superiors.

“Thank you for turning my subhuman Muslim son into a worthless faggot,” Aliyah praised Richard, her eyes avid. “Would you like to fuck his ass this morning?”

“Yeah,” Richard said, and Ali stopped his dancing routine and, looking like Princess Jasmine from Aladdin, took up a familiar position on the edge of the bed with his round, brown-skinned bottom clad in panties and a see-through gossamer harem trousers. Richard slid off the bed and positioned his cock between Ali’s round, supple boy butt, so like his mothers that it was like a miniature version, as Aliyah looked on at her son’s defilement with vapid satisfaction.

“Thank you for giving us the gift of your white rape, God,” Aliyah mewled, reaching down to finger herself as Richard thrust forward, sighing with release as he buried his cock to the hilt in Ali’s smooth, blushing asshole. The Persian boy bit his lip and moaned like an eager concubine as his white schoolmate reached his depth and then began to thrust, and Aliyah couldn’t help but finger her puffy, soaking cunt-box at the sight of her own son’s Arabic dignity being absolutely obliterated and feminized by monstrous, superior white cock. Whatever reverence she had once had for Allah and the Quran, she now reserved for young Richard LeBlanc’s young, oversized sex tool - she knelt before it and worshiped it and made observance to it as fastidiously as she ever had the holy days of years past; she turned toward Richard’s cock to pray instead of finding Mecca, and her prayers were always the same - _please, let my filthy Muslim cunt be stretched and destroyed by the white kingship of superior Caucasian fuckmeat_.

She leaned her face forward toward Richard’s bottom as she did so, putting her hands on his supple young cheeks and then spreading them, pressing forward to orally service his asshole, sliding her tongue around it. She formed a vacuum seal with her mouth around his opening as she worshiped him and snaked her tongue inside, mopping and licking at his bowels, elongating her lips into a lewd, ass-sucking expression. Her eyes fluttered their long lashes and rolled back in her head.

“Nnngh… fuck! Yeah! _Suck my ass_ ! Get me extra hard so I can fuck Ali better!” Richard cried. His young voice was a sharp contrast to the nasty content of his words, but Aliyah responded nonetheless with an obedient moan and buried her tongue as deep as it could go in his bowels, slurping those walls and making suctioning, spit-soaked motions as she tended to his hole. In truth, there was nothing she liked more than giving rimjobs to cute, superior Caucasian boys, and happily licked his asshole any time he asked. She considered it a duty to hew new god; sacred as any she’d had before, and it always had the same effect on her when she slithered her hand down between her thighs to finger at her soaking, steaming pussy! She mashed and fingered herself aggressively as she tended to her task. She loved the soft feeling of his buttocks around her face, the incomparable scent of boy-musk, but the thing that made her wettest was the subtle, barely-there taste of _Caucasian shit_!

Aliyah’s eyes rolled back as she formed her mouth into a tube shape and sucked Richard’s asshole like a pig. She squirted unceremoniously and copiously all over the floor, splattering her inner thighs and the action figures nearby with the mess of lubrication, achieving orgasm with sordid ease at the mental stimulation of being nothing more than a worthless toilet for a white boy. When she felt Richard’s asshole clench around her tongue and the shots of semen begin to fire, it only made her cum harder to know that his superior Western seed was colonizing her son’s asshole and snuffing out any hope that he would ever be anything but a cumdump for white bulls!

She had even started to find the idea of actually fucking a camel to be very exciting. It was what Richard said she would enjoy, after all. Her orgasm continued to fry her loins into a jittery, spasming mess as she dropped her hands from Richard’s buttocks to her taut, bulging belly. There was a mixed-race baby inside it - Richard’s - and they already knew it would be a daughter. She intended to raise her female child diligently and teach her a new religion, one that had no Quran or hadith, no rites or holy places except the dangling defloration between the muscled thighs of any Western, imperialist stud. Aliyah would, when the time came, teach her to suck American cock. Then, she, her daughter, and Ali (who she now considered another daughter rather than a son) could live a happy life as sewers for All-American, blue-eyed, warm apple-pie, flag-saluting sperm.

Richard grunted and pulled out of Ali’s asshole, leaving the effeminate Persian ‘boy’ gasping and moaning like a princess, sweaty face turned to the mattress. Aliyah thanked Richard again for raping Ali, then sucked his cock clean before he wiped it dry in her hair. Soon, she would make his favorite breakfast, and she and Ali would eat on the floor like dogs, consuming only his leftovers. If she was lucky, Richard would snake his flaccid cock into her mouth and feed her his hot, steaming piss until her belly was fit to burst. Her half-breed baby needed nutrients, after all! 

Deliriously happy, Aliyah rose and tottered toward the upstairs landing on star-spangled high heels. Life in America really was all she hoped it could be.


End file.
